


down in the valley

by kemia



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Ferdie’s a Cowboy, Hubert’s an Undertaker, M/M, based on fanart, old west au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-01-15 01:36:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21245360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kemia/pseuds/kemia
Summary: edelgard has been chasing down a group of bandits for years, and hubert agrees to settle down in a small western town and pose as the  town undertaker while she investigates.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this work is based on fan art by @loafeoil on twitter! https://twitter.com/loafeoil/status/1187512407003926528?s=21
> 
> my first chaptered ferdibert work and it’s the one where he’d definitely say darn tootin.
> 
> i hope you all enjoy the first chapter! for more ferdibert follow my twitter @vestraegir

“Roses love sunshine, violets love dew…”

A gentle yet loud crooning of a heartfelt ballad was the first thing Hubert heard in the morning. He was warned of Adrestia’s prized rooster who never slept, who would pass outside his window just as the color of the desert sky peeked over his humble home, and how he’d show off his gaudy feathers if anyone dared to look. When Hubert did so dare, he found not a very talented rooster, but a messy vigilante. His long, auburn hair was mussed, and he twirled his hat on the tip of his finger. A deep brown stallion, in comparison well-kept and with a mane like silk, stood tall at his side, tied just feet outside his bedside window.

Now, living here was never his choice. The moment Edelgard had shown an interest in settling down as the sheriff in this tiny, haphazard congregation of fools, he’d opposed wholeheartedly. But, everyone in the place seemed to love her, and at her side he’d stay until he was beneath the ground. For her, he’d endure anything - but only so many mornings could he be awoken by the same ditty until it became a nuisance.

Still in his nightclothes, he found the candlestick on his night table and set it alight in a breezy motion, moving toward the slightly-open window.

“Angels in Heaven know I loooove -”

“I didn’t ask for a wake-up call this morning. Or any other morning, if I recall, so why do you insist on being right outside my door with your ceaseless singing?”

“Agh-!” The young man leaped forward, in an entirely over-dramatic fashion that nearly spooked his horse. “... Oh, uh, it’s you. Didn’t know this was where you set up shop. Sign ain’t up yet,” he asserted, pointing toward the very blank spot above his door.

“It’s not, no,” Hubert started, completely incredulous. “But don’t you have your own home to carry on in without _ disturbing my sleep?” _

With an eyebrow quirked, the man replied in a questioning tone, “No, I don’t. Unless it’s rainin’, then I’m Miss Dorothea’s honey.”

Hubert continued to be incredulous. That, of course, was of no fault of his own - where he’d come from, at the very least every man sought a roof over his head. The idea of someone who intentionally made the blazing sands his bed at night made him frown.

“... Do you ever smile? You always look like a coyote killed your cat.” With a sigh, the man placed his hat back atop his unkempt head. “What’s your name? Else I’ll end up givin’ you a nickname I know you won’t like.”

The shadow he was wanted himself to remain a mystery, as if there were some possibility that, for once, Lady Edelgard had made a decision she regretted and wanted to leave immediately.

But that’d never happened before. With a brief roll of his eyes, he slid his window up higher so he could lean against the frame. “Hubert.”

The other seemed to be waiting for a last name that never came. He clicked his tongue, shooting a daggered look up at Hubert. “Alright, then. Just Ferdinand.” Almost dismissive of the disrespect, Ferdinand angled his body away, resting his hand over his horse’s hair and petting tenderly. “I’ve got a question for you. Do you think that just because you waltzed in here with some fancy-schmancy clothes and some highfalutin words that you’re _ better _ than us?”

Hubert smirked. “If you’d rather I be honest, then yes.” It _wasn’t_ honest; he hardly meant that. He was irritated and only wanted to be contrarian.

There was a disgusted grunt for a response, and a solid two, maybe three seconds of Ferdinand trying to contain his anger before he turned back, hoisted himself up onto the wooden porch, and looked Hubert dead in the sleep-deprived eyes.

“You’re _ not. _ At least Miss Edelgard didn’t come into town with the idea that she was gonna try to change how we are. She certainly couldn’t best me in wranglin’ those bandits out there, but she’s still an ace-high lady. You? You’re really shapin’ up to be a bastard who’s more prolly more flush in money than morals. And I’ve only known ya for a few minutes, tops.”

Ferdinand’s scowl grew deep, and he dug a finger into Hubert’s unflinching chest.

“I’ve been singin’ in this town every morning for the past five years, and I ain’t gonna stop for some hoity-toity Yankee who’s too damn big for his lace-lined britches. Got it?”

Before Hubert could get a word in edgewise, he turned on his heel, hopping down from the porch and popping his foot into his saddle’s stirrup.

“But hey, gotta say, undertaker’s a pretty fittin’ position for you, given you’re no good at talkin’ to anyone with warm flesh.” He tossed himself up over the saddle and undid the knot tying up his horse. “Good luck in Adrestia.” With a curt nudge to the horse’s side, he took off into the desert just outside town, singing his tune even louder than before.

Left in a cloud of dust, Hubert sputtered, sighing again once the dirt evacuated his lungs. At the moment, he wanted a lot of things - a cigar, a train ticket back north, but that was all just vain hope. Aside from the cigar. He had a few of those.

In the wake of the near-yodeling echoing about, a figure with long, green hair slinked out of a building across the way. The town doctor, he had to guess, from what Edelgard had told him. His eyes drooped, clearly woken up unexpectedly all the same. Hubert couldn’t imagine how the singing the first time hadn’t woken him up.

“You really managed to get him going, huh?” he said, just loud enough that Hubert could make out the words. The man yawned, his hair like an emerald curtain to hide his face. “Oh. We haven’t met yet. I’m Linhardt.” He waved, very half-heartedly. “Now then, could you maybe shut your trap next time? I was up late stitching Caspar back together, and I don’t take kindly to people who make Ferdinand get louder than he needs to be.”

Hubert liked this one better, at least. They shared a sentiment. Quieter, too.

“Sure, I suppose I can manage that,” he agreed, attempting a more cordial voice that sounded more like a snake swallowing a prairie dog. “Stitching someone back together? Sounds like something rather gruesome happened.”

Linhardt rubbed at the back of his neck. “I was overexaggerating. It’s just those bandits all in black that’ve been making the rounds in these parts. It’s usually Ferdinand and Caspar that are dealing with them, but Caspar is reckless and Ferdinand is dramatic. Terrible combination. Thought Ferdinand was bringing him to me dead or something.”

Bandits in black. Hubert had heard from Edelgard about them, but she wouldn’t reveal to him just why she was so interested in their whereabouts. Regardless of reason, though, he’d gladly put them in the ground - no ceremony about it.

“Neither of them live in town - they live out there under the stars somewhere with a ragtag band of vigilantes who own nothing but their horses and the clothes on their backs. But Ferdinand, he’s here with those tunes every morning. He says it’s for lifting our spirits and letting us know we’re safe or something. I’m not going to be the one to deny him that banal pleasure, so I learned to tune him out.”

Hubert was barely listening. The undertaker had the morbid thought that one day soon he’d wake up to no songs and another burial request tucked in his belt. “I see.”

Linhardt looked off into the distance, where the galloping shadow was steadily disappearing into the landscape. “Well, now that he’s left, I’m going back to bed.” Hubert couldn’t tell from the distance, but he’d swear up and down that he felt eyes in the back of his head. “Don’t let anyone else know you got on his bad side. Just about everyone here loves him.”

With another wave, just as half-hearted, the doctor retreated inside, leaving him in silence. 

Of course, now he had no desire to sleep. He knew he should focus on the bandits in black, the ones that made his lady grimace in the way he despised to see, but there was a slight anger bubbling underneath his skin. That Ferdinand. If being in this situation wasn’t already a thorn in his side, that man definitely would be.

He slid his hands through his hair in silent exasperation. His first day of work would just have an unnaturally early start, while the rest of the townsfolk were certainly peeved at him with their pillows over their heads. He ambled back into his bedroom, reached into a wooden drawer, pulled out a cigar and held it briefly over his candle’s flame.

He knew he was in for the long haul. It was time to start blending in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hubert starts to settle in, and his curiosity gets the best of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all THANK YOU for all the warm reception from the first chapter! western ferdie is growing a spot in my achey breaky heart.
> 
> for more ferdibert stuff my twitter is vestraegir! and if you are interested in the warm drink of the bitter variety the username is keminya!

It was midday when Edelgard stopped by his new shop for the first time. The front door swung open with nary a knock, her small shadow looming over Hubert while he swept the grey off of golden picture frames. Without hesitation, his shop that laid in disarray became merely a backdrop for the center of his world. He put his duster aside to place his hand on his chest.

“Milady,” he greeted, far too formally. “This attire suits you.”

The sleeves of her white button-up were folded just above her elbows, with her long, pale hair folded up inside of an ebony ten-gallon hat. The only part of her that glimmered more strongly in the summer sun than her shiny new badge was the determination swimming in the purple of her eyes - though, that failed to even consider the halfway smile she wore when she looked his way.

“Do you think so? The young woman who runs the saloon, Dorothea, suggested this clothing to me - she said it’d help me feel more at home.”

“And does it?”

Edelgard shifted her weight from left to right as she pondered her answer. “I’m not sure yet. I feel … different, but I don’t dislike it.” She took a few further steps into the room, the floorboards creaking beneath them. Something oblong laying in an open chest caught her eye - a portrait of herself as a child. She crouched before it, and her hands traced the youthful features of her face, embracing them almost longingly. “Have you met the others in town, Hubert? They’re good, hard-working people.”

Hubert bit down on sharing his experiences with a particular nuisance, choosing to heed a stranger’s advice for once. _ Don’t let anyone know you got on his bad side. _ He breathed out, letting the bubble of anger in his stomach settle. “I’ve only met with the doctor. Although, mingling with the townsfolk isn’t quite part of my duty here, so I haven’t made it a priority.”

Edelgard shot him a look, but not with a single degree of the sternness she tended to use with others. Disappointment, perhaps, which to Hubert, she knew, would sting worse. “It is now. You are my _informant,_ Hubert. I need you to understand each and every person in Adrestia - their motivations, their histories, their routines.” 

She rose from her kneel, making herself tall - which, honestly, wasn’t much in comparison to the man at her side. “... I need you to be my second pair of eyes and ears, because we will not have any chance at cornering the menace plaguing this town without knowing who is already plaguing it from the inside.”

Hubert knew better than to argue, even if the thought of learning a single other thing about that backwards _ neanderthal _ filled him with disdain. “...Of course, milady.”

Edelgard sighed, moving away from her childhood reflection. “I know you didn’t want to come here, despite what you’ve told me. But I need you now more than ever. This is the closest I’ve ever been to having those _ bastards _ within my grasp - the closest I’ve been to getting the answers I seek.”

Hubert’s thoughts trailed away to Linhardt’s words once again. The bandits in black - he could tell by the way that the spark in her eyes became a flame how much they meant to her. Yet, he knew little to nothing about them, never thinking to ask beyond the fact that he’d strike dead anyone who crossed her. When the words came from someone else’s mouth, it gave them a sense of physicality that made them more than a concept. He wanted to know now.

“...I only came to check on you. I must get back to work, and you should do the same.”

As her body turned to leave, Hubert could no longer contain the curiosity within him. “Lady Edelgard, if it’s alright for me to ask, I wish to know more about the foul creatures who plague your days and nights. I wish to share in your pain and your anger. Please, tell me more.”

He watched her body freeze still, and regretted his very existence. The silence was punctuated by a stiff wind rattling the two halves of his swinging door.

After a long moment of Hubert wanting to tear his very heart from his chest and present it as an apology, she said quietly, “I’ll tell you someday soon - but not now. I still… I can’t. Please understand.”

The expression she wore as she looked back over her shoulder was enough for him, the words “I do” tumbling somberly from his mouth.

With solemn, lidded eyes, Edelgard smiled. “This shop of yours is looking nice so far. It’s my sincerest hope that you will have to use it as little as possible.” With that, she stepped back into the sunlight, feigning the confidence that made her so fearsome.

He knew that if she so decreed it, his innate sense of duty would follow suit. Still, Hubert ran a hand down his face, looking back down at the mess of gothic baubles in the boxes at his feet.

His frustrations aside, he knew how to make something of ugly circumstances; he was a tactician, first and foremost. If he would be mingling with a town of very simple lives, he’d use that simplicity to tie his complex webs around this town and across this desert.

Not a single fly would escape. He swore it.

* * *

After a week of observation, Hubert found that Adrestia got much livelier at night. As the candles in the saloon windows burned down to nothing, the saloon was full of cheers and jeers, playful fights and actual fights.

Hubert expected this, though. Simple people were easy to predict.

As loathsome as the idea was, this was where everyone came to gather in one place, and it would be most efficient to go in and get this damned reconnaissance over with.

He managed to slink through the saloon door largely unnoticed, given that everyone was hooting and hollering over some blue-haired fellow in a heated arm-wrestling match. His eyes wandered briefly before catching on the lively brunette woman behind the bar, audibly humming and wiping down a glass. She was quick to notice him staring, and quirked an eyebrow as he approached, setting his hat upon the counter.

“Well, well, I was wonderin’ when you were gonna stop by,” she said, a heavy drawl accompanying her sweet soprano tone.

“Good evening, Miss Arnault,” he replied, pupils drifting around listlessly before he took a seat.

“Huh. We’ve never spoke a word together and you somehow got my full name. Color me impressed.” Her coy smile punctuated her every word, in a charming way that he assessed drove the men here wild. “But please, call me Dorothea.”

“Dorothea, then,” he agreed, nonchalantly tugging at his necktie. “Hubert. Might I have a glass of wine? Whatever you suggest.”

Her laugh was like a bell among the rough voices in the room. “Oh, you sound exactly like Edie described you. Wine? Sure, lemme see...” Dorothea turned her back to him, rummaging through a collection of bottles, while he pursed his lips. _ Edie. _He couldn’t possibly imagine calling her something so casual.

“So,” Dorothea began as she popped the cork off of a bottle of red, “what finally brought you over this way? You made it pretty clear you’re the type to keep to ‘imself.”

Hubert reached into his coat pocket, sliding a bank note forward with two fingers as she poured. It was far more than the drink cost, he was certain, but he was here for information, and he’d met types like Dorothea over the years. More than likely, her own web of information went deeper than she made it seem, and that information was her special kind of currency.

“I actually wished to ask you a few questions ... if you’re willing to oblige.”

Like a hawk honing in on prey, Dorothea’s eyes flashed to the bank note, then up to Hubert, her smile mostly faded. “What kinda questions?”

“I want to ask-” His words were cut off by a whooping chorus of men, and he winced before he was able to continue. “... I want to ask about the ones in black. How much do you know about them?”

Her hands trembled slightly as she observed the dollar amount of the bill laid before her. She set down the bottle and slid the glass his way, eyes never leaving the obvious bribe. “I know some,” she said, breaking her own stupor. “Just some.”

“Some is enough,” he said plainly, taking the glass in his gloved hand and swirling the vessel around.

“...From what I know,” she began, leaning in close so that her words could be lost among the chaos, “they’ve only been around here for a year. Almost feels like they cause terror for no reason. And I know for a fact, there's a lot of ‘em. Way too many for just any old gang. I’ve got a hunch they go out way further than these parts.” 

She breathed in, moving in even closer and words growing even smaller in the room. “A man much like you came around here a few months ago. Got absolutely snapped. He kept sayin’ somethin’ over and over ‘bout someone called Horned Viper. Next day, he turned up dead in the sand, right in the square outside.”

Hubert breathed in and out heavily, trying to piece the swell of information together in his head. _ Horned Viper. Horned Viper? _ Had he ever heard of anyone that went by that name? Perhaps, but it blurred into a sea of possibilities, and he could only shake his head. He didn’t know. _ Yet, _ at least.

“Anyway. That’s all I know.”

“That was plenty, Miss Arnault - mm, Miss Dorothea. Thank you,” he said, voice smooth like fine silk. 

Then a loud bang echoed through the room - a fist slammed against a wooden table.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doin’?!” Hubert’s immediate thought was, _ Oh, God. _

“Dorothea, is this _ snake _botherin’ you?”

Hubert immediately felt venom line his throat. He was desperately hoping Dorothea would say something first, before he put some bite into his bark.

“Ferdie, we were just _ chatting,” _she yelled out, the timbre of her voice dropping an octave. “Could you butt out?”

“No, I can’t,” he growled, pushing a few of the men in the crowd aside to approach the bar. “You deserve to talk to somebody who _ doesn’t _ think you’ve got no brain in your skull. Someone who doesn’t slither around like he’ll feed you to those bandit _ rats _.”

“Ferdie, pipe down,” she hissed, to no avail, since the mere mention of rats sent the elephants in the room into an uproar - an uproar that was far too maddening for Hubert’s tastes.

“Not to worry, Miss Dorothea. I’m taking my leave, anyhow.” His glass still mostly full, he stood and grabbed his hat, holding it to his chest. “Thank you for the conversation. Good day.”

As he went for the door, the noise and the crowd and his irritation fueled his base desires. He glanced over the crowd, lifting his head and voice, and uttering, “Which one of you is Caspar?”

The men all fell silent in a hurry. The blue-haired cowboy seated at the table flicked his dirt-covered hand in the air. “That’d be me.”

Hubert’s eyes burned holes as he looked up and down the shorter man. “Keep your _ dog _ on his leash, will you?”

The wall of sound that hit him was deafening. Only his eyes could process anything, and they found Caspar physically holding Ferdinand back by both arms while the other men shoved and thrashed around pointlessly, looking for a fight.

Amid the manmade storm brewing, he simply walked out of the saloon, unscathed. He managed a few, quiet yards in the dark before a body slammed through the saloon doors, falling flat on the wooden porch.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Once again, the grating boom of Ferdinand’s voice. Hubert rolled his neck, putting his hat back atop his head.

“Absolutely _ nothing, _until you placed your two cents where it was entirely unwanted. Do you have any self-awareness? Or are you simply so quick to assumptions that you don’t think before you speak?”

Teeth bared, the redhead yelled into the chill of the night, “Assumptions? _ You’re _the one who said he thinks he’s better than us!”

“Then I was mistaken,” Hubert said coolly, his anger subsiding into a firm seriousness. “It’s just _ you _ I know I’m better than.” He popped up the collar of his jacket to shield himself from the night air. “If you learned to bite your tongue, everything would’ve been fine, but now you’ve left Miss Dorothea to fend for herself. You aren’t chivalrous or beloved by all right now. You’re a petty _ fool _ leading a band of rascals._” _

That dug into Ferdinand’s ego enough that his face fell, and he looked back toward the rowdy crowd he’d left behind. The conflict on his face was conspicuous, even in the dark; he clearly didn’t want to admit Hubert was right.

After a pocket of time with no response, Hubert continued to walk away, before Ferdinand shouted, “I just know you’ll turn traitor. And when everyone else sees it… when Miss Edelgard sees it, I’ll be oh-so pleased to shoot you dead.” Then he was gone, disappeared with a whoosh of the saloon door.

Hubert smiled in spite of himself. That man really _ was _ a fool, but the possibility that they’d come to duel one day was a funny thought that would entertain him in his dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> with all of the violence he has to deal with to do his duty, hubert is sick of honor and what it brings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY i know it's been like three months since i updated and that's due to a very long case of writer's block when handling the second half of this chapter. however, i've finally gotten over it and i hope you enjoy the result for how long i made everyone wait!
> 
> check out my twitter @vestraegir for more ferdibert content, and if you'd like to go on a coffee date, my username is keminya!

It took about two weeks for Hubert to spin his web across town.

The threads overlapped in so many predictable places. The doctor always opened his office at five minutes till noon, rain or shine - unless it was Caspar in need of fixing, then his door was always open. Dorothea hummed a selection of only four different tunes in four different keys while she worked behind the bar, but never any others, and never the same tune for two days in a row.

There was also Ferdinand, with his incessant yodeling, but he’d even grown used to that, as nothing in the world would shut that man up other than an act of God or a bullet in his skull.

Few things in this town were variable, with a clear love for mundane routines and simple lives.

That said, unknown elements stuck out sorely to him. A single visitor would pass through town, ambling into the saloon at night and out by daybreak.

Sometimes, he came on Tuesdays. Sometimes, on Fridays. There was no routine, no rhyme or reason to his visits from what Hubert could tell from his dusty shop window.

It drew him out from behind the glass - he was Edelgard’s eyes and ears, after all, and if her mind was preoccupied, he must act in her stead.

He waited until nightfall to approach the tavern. He was thankfully ignored by all but Dorothea as he swept through the swinging door into the ever-loud ruckus of drunken men. She offered a bashful smile and a nod, more befitting of a belle than a barmaid. Hubert tipped his hat in acknowledgement, and she turned away and continued to pour a glass of whiskey.

While Dorothea was one of the few folks here he liked, he didn’t have time to chat with her. His gaze slithered down the barstools, settling on a pale, dark-haired man, with the approachability of a rabid dog based on his perch away from everyone else. Still, he wore a dumb smile alongside the deep-red flush of his face while he watched the crowd, his fingers curled around an empty cup.

This opportunity had simply handed itself to Hubert. He couldn’t deny the smugness that fell over him.

In a town of such mundanity, anything erratic and unfamiliar would be considered a threat, by all means. And Hubert was this town’s undertaker, even if _ he _was to be the source of his own work.

With a cool stride, Hubert moved into the seat beside the drunk, removing his hat and slapping it on the countertop to get his attention.

“... You seem to have your eye on something. Care to share?” His tone was cool and pleasant, with a hint of an accent - anyone who was truly a regular resident here would know better.

He did not. Rather than question it, the man chuckled, motioning his head toward the other side of the bar where a young, well-adorned girl with purple hair sat in a dress with many layers. She was evidently sweating and nervous out of her mind while the brutes around her tried to chat her up.

“Her. Heh, she looks like her dad’s got money. What I wouldn’t give to have that kind of dough on my hands.”

Hubert took note of every little detail. For starters, this man didn’t know Bernadetta by name, when he would fancy every other man in the place certainly did.

“Well, you’re quite right about that. Sir Varley has more money than he knows what to do with.” His eyes flickered from Bernadetta back to the mystery man, his expression and voice laced with secrecy. “Word is she ran away from home to live somewhere quiet … and that she took some of her daddy’s fortune and hid it in this here desert.”

That got the scumbag’s attention. With a hint of hesitation, he slid his glass aside, his beady eyes searching Hubert up and down. Still, Hubert didn’t sense this slob was sober enough to be _ that _ suspicious - yet another thing he was right about, by the sly look the man put on his face.

“Yeah? What are ya tellin’ _ me _ this for?”

Hubert grinned, picking up his hat and holding it in front of their faces, as if guarding their exchange. “Well, see, I only have a _ hint _ of where in the desert it’s buried. Now, I’d certainly find it much faster if I had… say, a second pair of hands on a shovel, and with that kinda money, I wouldn’t even _ mind _ splittin’ it two ways. And truth be told, I don’t trust a single other simpleton in this place. So…”

He extended a gloved hand with full expectations. “Is it a deal?”

Hubert counted only four seconds of hesitation before the drunkard was haphazardly jostling his arm about. “Sure, sure, it’s a deal. Just say when.”

That was a new record in manipulation, he figured. He’d pat himself on the back later - before that, there was still more to be done. He rose from the barstool, motioning toward the door. “The sooner, the better. You know how rumors spread. Like the plague.”

The man nodded, hiccuped, got up, and moved for the door all in a single breath. “Yup, lead the way and… ‘nd gimme a shovel.”

The crisp desert air was a slap in the face after the warmth of the saloon. Still, Hubert’s gait was smooth, proud, like the trot of a prized racehorse. He knew what had to be done now, but the knowledge that it would benefit Lady Edelgard made it nothing but a trifle, with the only annoyance being the cleanup afterwards.

“From what I know, the treasure is buried out in the east,” Hubert said, failing to turn and look back at the poor sap following him. He rounded a corner into an alleyway between two buildings, and his ‘partner in crime’ kept close behind, just as he wanted.

“Ah,” Hubert exclaimed, pausing mid-stride. “Silly me, I forgot the shovels. Wait here, I’ll go back and get them.”

The other man grunted and turned his back to Hubert, leaning against one of the alley walls, looking out over the sandy horizon.

Honestly, this idiot had made it far too easy for him. Hubert was almost disappointed - still, there was no giving up a good opportunity just for a little fun.

From within his pocket he retrieved a length of rope, just over two feet long with each end messily frayed. Purposely holding his breath and muting his footsteps, he lunged forward, catching the man around the neck.

“Ghk - you - !”

Hubert was terrifyingly steadfast, and those were the only words the fiend managed under the pressure. For all of the kicking and thrashing, Hubert’s strength far surpassed his appearance, though the victim’s drunkenness certainly wasn’t doing him any favors. He pulled tighter, and his eyebrows followed suit, pulling into a deep furrow while he tried to keep the man down for seconds on end.

After a minute or so, the thrashing stopped.

He continued, however - he’d done this enough times that he knew it would take more time than that to kill a man. The lack of remorse in his actions reflected in his mind as well - he felt relieved, accomplished, as he finished the deed and dropped the body to the ground.

Hubert sighed, as he considered the fact that the body was now his own problem, but he’d done as he promised for his most important person. That was what mattered.

After making sure no one was around, he hoisted the corpse over his shoulder.

* * *

A few humdrum days passed, and nary a person took note of the stranger’s disappearance, nor did anyone ask about Hubert shuffling about in his workspace. Ferdinand continued to be a nuisance, Dorothea hummed her same four tunes - nothing changed, as if Hubert’s bloodied hands had simply worked out a kink in a garden hose. With a trace of a smile lingering on his lips, he engaged in his work throughout the afternoon, treating the dead body in his care with the kindness of a fond hobby. For now, all was (mostly) quiet and still.

It gave him plenty of time to think about the intel he’d gained from Dorothea. The name “Horned Viper” continued to haunt him, like the ghost of a past dream. He searched through a mental catalogue of newspaper headlines, of tales heard on the road - still, nothing stood out in his memory. That was something to deal with at another time, however, when his hands weren’t so … _ preoccupied _.

Setting down his tools, Hubert moved toward the front of his shop, sifting through a drawer full of bottles of formaldehyde. The moment he found what he was looking for, a loud and only slightly distant bang seemed to rock the walls around him.

At first, he assumed it was one of those idiotic vigilantes being particularly idiotic, for which he’d have to scold them for causing alarm in the middle of the day. He peered out of his front window and noticed a silhouette heading for town at full speed, one arm clutching a pistol raised high in the air. An unfamiliar silhouette.

He immediately dropped everything and shoved through his front door. Already waiting in the center square was Edelgard, arms folded with her hat casting a shadow over her eyes. A true vision.

The stamping of hooves raised a hell of a dust cloud, leaving Hubert unable to make out the visage of the stranger as their horse grunted and a pair of snakeskin boots hit the ground.

When the dust settled, there stood a deathly pale woman with a shaggy crop of red hair. The fury in her eyes made her seem like a wild flame, barely contained by her own flesh. Her gun never left her hand, only now she twirled it on her finger like a toy.

Despite Edelgard’s obvious presence, the woman aimed her gaze at all of the surrounding buildings, toward the townsfolk that were now hiding from the present danger. “Somebody better tell me _ right now _ who killed my man. I’ll go through every one of you if I don’t get an answer right quick - I’ll go through the kids, too!”

With her ever-present poise, Edelgard stepped forward, pulling her hat away from her face. “If I might know who I’m speaking with, I may be able to give you an answer.”

The redhead’s flame flickered, the anger on her face swapped for disgust, contempt. She made a lazy attempt to motion at Edelgard with her pistol. “The name’s Kronya. I suppose you’re the little bastard head of this little bastard town? Emphasis on _ little.” _

Hubert wanted to kill the wretch right then and there, but he knew it was for the best to let his lady handle the situation. She, after all, stood entirely unfazed.

“Yes. I am,” she said so matter-of-factly, looking up at Kronya with her hand resting on the edge of her holster. “I’m the sheriff, Edelgard. If you have a problem with someone here in Adrestia, then you’re welcome to bring your complaints to me.”

Kronya’s nose curled up in a snarl at the suggestion of her grievances being a mere complaint, but it settled back into a furious smugness. “Is that so? Because my _ friend _ came here with only the _ best of intentions _ in patronizing this pathetic _ shithole, _ and what do you do? You thank him by kickin’ him _ right _ in his _ bucket! _” She punctuated her sentence by kicking up sand.

As if she hadn’t been shouting a moment before, Kronya chuckled, tipping up her own hat with the barrel of her gun. “But, y’know, fine. If you’re insisting on defending the _ lowlife _ that did him in, then I suppose you’ll have no problem with a little _ duel _ for my henchman’s honor? Seein’ as he can’t defend his own.”

Hubert could read Edelgard’s eyes after years of following her lead. He saw her cogs turning, and he knew that she knew the truth. It was a coin with two heads; if she agreed, there was the potential for betrayal. But, if she refused, this bandit cur would most certainly carry out her own justice. 

It all clicked into place, and her face was stony, resolute. “No problems. A duel it is. Are you prepared to settle this here and now?”

The witch tugged at a scrap of fabric wrapped around her neck, grinning from ear to ear. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Suppose I’ll just have to aim ... low to the ground.”

He didn’t buy a mite of this farce. With slow, deliberate movements, Hubert slunk back into his shop. The bandit didn’t seem to pay him any mind; she probably thought him some cowering weakling who would easily bend to her will simply because she was loud, angry and armed. The drawer just beneath the one stocked full of bottles, that was the one - he slid it open with care, grabbed his own pistol, and perched himself at his open window. He cocked it as quietly as possible and waited.

He had a perfect line of vision - at ten paces, her head would fall perfectly at arm’s height. He just had to not miss.

As Edelgard prepared her weapon, his eyes kept trailing back to her. She appeared as untouchable as usual, in all of her glory, but he knew she would act as honorably as possible. It was a necessity to her as a leader to have that pure, untainted image, lest her intentions come into question. He, however, was not hindered by any such expectations.

After all, _ the _ Ferdinand had already expressed enough distrust in him that it didn’t matter if that reputation got a little worse.

“Ten paces and turn,” Edelgard clarified, which received a sneer as a response before Kronya turned away from the sheriff and took a slow, deliberate step. “One.” Edelgard did the same. Another step. “Two.” Another. “Three.”

Each step felt like an eternity with such an unpredictable factor on the other end of the gunfight. He steadied his arm with his other, wrenching an eye closed.

Four steps. Five steps. He watched Kronya’s every move.

At six steps, her other hand moved. At seven steps, he caught the glint of dark metal in the sunlight. 

“Eight,” Edelgard declared, clear and strong. Kronya smiled, and began to turn. Two steps too early, but it was all too expected.

He fired.

The gunshot rang across the desert, the very world around Adrestia seeming to waver and shake. Edelgard jolted back, examining the bloody corpse that was now staining the sand. Right through her skull. Motionless, lifeless. A perfect shot.

A trail of warm smoke led to Hubert like a will-o’-the-wisp. He held his arm high for a few moments, perhaps processing the death he’d caused, before it fell, and he exhaled.

The town stayed stunned in silence for a moment, with Edelgard the only natural candidate to break it. She moved forward and crouched to check the body, perhaps knowing fully well she was the only life left in the square.

With the perpetrating hand still shaking from the recoil, he set his pistol aside, once again taking to the porch.

“Thank you, Hubert,” Edelgard said, her usual timbre quieted by the sudden death.

“Just because these people value honor over life doesn’t mean that you must,” he scolded, but the smile on his mouth was knowing. Just saying such a thing wouldn’t change how she inherently was. “Still, it was but a trifle.”

Another horse, approaching from the north. Both of their heads jerked toward it, worried that another bandit scorned was coming for them. But, better than any other, Hubert recognized the bronze-colored stallion, and the flicker of auburn hair fluttering in the wind.

Ferdinand pulled the horse to a harsh, unexpected stop the moment his eyes fell on the corpse before him. He petted through the horse's mane in apology while gaping at the bloody sight.

“You’re a bit late,” Hubert called out, the taunting tone he couldn’t help lacing his words.

He felt a daggered glare flash his way, gone in an instant with its attention on Edelgard. “What happened?”

“This woman blamed the death of one of her comrades on someone in town. I can only assume, based on her words and demeanor, that she was affiliated with our familiar group of bandits.” She looked back toward Hubert. “She challenged me to a duel, but she clearly had no intention of sticking to code. Hubert protected me.”

The feeling that swelled in Hubert’s chest as Ferdinand’s eyes un-daggered was insatiably smug. Were he more immature, less polished, he’d most certainly throw the man’s prior words back in his face. _ What was that about me being an obvious traitor? _

Rather, he just stood a smidgeon taller, folding his hand over his chest. “I will do what I must to protect you, milady.”

The tension was palpable, given how clammy and speechless Ferdinand was. Looking between the two, Edelgard interjected, “I’m going to go let everyone know that it’s safe to be outside again. I trust you can take care of this.”

No response from either man, now trapped in a deadlock with each other. With a tiny sigh, she walked away, toward the tavern.

“... ’m sorry.”

Ferdinand broke the silence. Hubert’s eyebrows quirked.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

Ferdinand rolled his eyes. “You heard what I said, I don’t needa say it again. What I said about you wasn’t right. You’re not a traitor. Shouldn’t’ve said that.”

Hubert could do nothing to hold back the grin that crept up on him. “Well, that’s quite -”

“Do _ not _ get the wrong idea,” Ferdinand shot back, disgusted by the shame thrust unwittingly upon him. “I still don’t like you. You may not be a traitor, but you still don’t know a lick about honor. I can respect that you did good for Miss Edelgard, but I don’t respect _ you. _”

What a fool. So obsessed with honor. What good was honor, anyway, but an unspoken thing that made it permissible to bathe in one’s own idiocy? Honor was a religion out here, and he absolutely would not subscribe to that faith.

“Duly noted,” was all Hubert said, sauntering toward the body beside them. As he lifted the dead girl into his arms, the fabric tied around her neck came loose and fell away.

On the side of her neck that was still intact, there was a tattoo - a dark, coiling snake with two small, protruding horns.

Hubert smiled. Surely, this wasn’t who he was looking for - anyone at the head of such a massive band of criminals wouldn’t dare show themselves over a single, inconsequential man.

Still, maybe the Horned Viper was somewhere closer than he thought. He left Ferdinand to his "honor" and disappeared back inside.


End file.
